


The Position

by NerysDax, SerpentInRed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentInRed/pseuds/SerpentInRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A showdown between two former classmates leads to so much more … and Hermione isn’t certain what the final outcome will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts), [WildKitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitsune/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** This story was written for the Tomione Forum's Secret Santa 2014 as an additional gift fic for Wildkitsune for submitting her fic before the deadline. With thanks to LadyMiya for looking over our story.

 

**The Position**

**Chapter One**

 

A misunderstanding, that was what they’d told her and bloody Tom Riddle.

 

It had all been a misunderstanding. Of all things to say, that was just the icing on the cake.

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a nightmare, a constant pest, to her at Hogwarts, and now, when she really needed a job most urgently, Mr. Freaking Perfect, I’m-so-clever-and-arrogant, Head Boy was in her way again. Why he even needed the job was beyond her comprehension. She’d thought that with the obsession he had with being the best, he would work at some other, more prestigious job, like the Ministry or something.

 

Besides, didn’t these owners ever coordinate their tasks, or simply talked to one another? Burke had hired her, while Borgin had hired Riddle for the same position. That had become most abundantly obvious after both her and Riddle had shown up for work that morning.

 

The two shop owners had loudly argued about it in the back, while Riddle and her had stood silently at the counter—their backs slightly turned to each other. Not completely turned, of course, because who knew if Riddle would hex her in the back? He’d always kept up that “perfect Head Boy” façade when they were back at Hogwarts, but he was a Slytherin, and if there were anything Hermione knew for certain, it was to never believe in a bloody Slytherin.

In the end, Borgin and Burke had come up with the most “brilliant” idea of having Riddle and her show them who was best. Whoever had the most sales at the end of the month would be hired for real.

 

So, instead of a normal position, she got stuck with a trial period. It didn’t matter Riddle got stuck with the same, too. **_He himself_** didn’t seem to mind it either, judging by that annoying, utterly disgusting, unconcerned look on his face.

 

Smug bastard.

 

By the looks of things, he was convinced she wasn’t much of a threat to him securing the position.

 

He’d always beaten her in the past, after all.

 

All of the teachers loved him, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore. Nonetheless, Riddle’s position as the ultimate teacher’s pet hadn’t bothered her that much anyway. It was the fact that he’d always managed to beat her in classes. It didn’t matter how he’d always seemed to be just … **_lounging_** there as if he had no homework to finish; it didn’t even matter that he’d been busy smirking at her rather than taking down notes or listening to what the professors had to say; she could’ve sworn she’d never actually seen him studying for once while they were in school. He’d always managed to get higher grades than her and it had annoyed her to no ends.

 

And it still annoyed her, whenever she reminisced the “good, old days” back at Hogwarts.

 

Those thoughts kept hovering in the back of her mind as Borgin showed them around, explaining the day-to-day operations of the shop, and what they were required to do.

 

As Riddle glanced at her askewed, one prominent thought pushed all others to the back of her mind: No matter what happened, she was going to get the job, even if she had to die in the process.

 

xxx

 

“Look, you can’t hog all the customers,” Hermione hissed, her head sticking through the curtain, after the door closed behind the leaving clients. “It’s unfair.”

 

Tom smirked. “Pray tell, how am I hogging all the customers when you’re out there, hiding in the backroom?”

 

“We were supposed to do inventory today! We, not me!”  
  
“I’m sure you got it under control, Bookworm. Counting was the one thing you excelled at. ‘Our essay’s supposed to be twenty inches long, not nineteen-and-a-half,’” he mocked in an uncanny resemblance to Hermione’s tone of voice.

 

“Just because you have such disregard of the rules doesn’t mean the rest of us like to cheat to win, Riddle.”

 

“When everything is said that needs to be said, it’s inane to add more words simply to satisfy a moron teacher who thinks size matters more over substance.”

 

Her nostrils flared in annoyance, and she spat out, “Oh, so _now_ they’re moron teachers, Mr. Let Me Suck Up To All Of You So Much It’ll Make My Eyes Water.”

 

“It’s called having some manners, Granger. Perhaps you would’ve had some more friends if you’d actually tried not to offend everyone you met.”

 

“Offend everyone I meet?” she sputtered. “Have some more friends? You’re one to talk. As if you’ve got any.”

 

He gazed at her with a haughty, superior expression that just begged to be punched off. “I got plenty, thank you very much.”

 

“Pffttt … as if. I’ve got eyes, Riddle. They’re not your friends. They’re your groupies.”

 

“See, it’s this bluntness I’m referring to. If you had the sense to not speak everything that came to mind, you might achieve more in your life, go places, be someone. You’re not untalented, Granger, but your social skills are appalling.”

 

The doorbell chimed. Tom immediately turned away, ignoring the sputter of protest behind him.

 

“Welcome to Borgin and Burkes, sir. How may I be of assistance?”

 

xxx

 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Walton. How may I help you today?” Hermione greeted the frequent customer with a bright smile.

 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Riddle exit the backroom. The bloody bastard. She was definitely **_not_** going to let him get his filthy paws on her customer again. Thankfully, Mrs. Walton seemed to prefer Hermione’s services, though the old lady wasn’t frugal when it came to smiles and cheery expressions where Tom was involved.

 

People who were handsome, charismatic, **_and_** intelligent should get thrown into Azkaban. With no chances of parole.

 

And she _soooo_ did not just compliment Tom sodding Riddle in her mind.

 

Shaking those vomit-inducing thoughts from her head, she waited patiently as Mrs. Walton perused the different objects they had in the store. Much to Hermione’s dismay, Tom confidently strode up to **_her_** client.

 

“Mrs. Walton, what a pleasant day it is. I was just thinking how I haven’t seen you for a while,” he said with a charming smile. “Is it just me, or are you becoming lovelier and lovelier?”

 

Ugh. Hermione rolled her eyes to the ceilings, thanking the stars that Mrs. Walton currently had her back towards her.

 

“Oh, Tom,” Mrs. Walton replied with a blush tainting her cheeks and a bashful giggle. “You flatter me so.”

 

“It’s not words of flattery that I speak. What I say is what I truly believe.”

 

Someone better get her a bin soon, or she might very well puke all over the floor.

 

Mrs. Walton giggled again. “Tom, I’m already a hundred and three—”

 

“And you do not look like a day over seventy,” Tom finished for her.

 

Before Tom could continue attempting to steal her customer from right under her nose, Hermione spoke up, “Aren’t you supposed to be cataloguing the new things we’ve gotten today, **_Tom_**?”

 

His dark eyes slid over to her, and a smirk flitted over his face so quickly that Hermione almost didn’t catch it before it softened into an innocent smile. “Why, I possibly can’t pass up the chance to see Mrs. Walton. It’s been so long since she’s visited.”

 

The delight on Mrs. Walton’s face grew, and she patted Tom’s arm affectionately. “I’ll be sure to drop by more often.”

 

“You most certainly have to,” Tom answered enthusiastically, his face brightening.

 

The look on his face, that bloody smile on his face, it all looked so genuine that had Hermione not known him for so long, she would’ve believed him.

 

Correction: Manipulative bastards who were handsome, charming, and intelligent deserved to be thrown into Azkaban without a chance of parole.

 

“Hermione dear, I received a phone call from Mr. Burke that the Chandelier of Circe came in. Did he put it away for me?” Mrs. Walton asked.

 

“Yes, he did,” Hermione replied with an amiable smile. “I’ll—”

 

“Allow me to get it for you, Mrs. Walton,” Tom said before Hermione could finish her sentence.

 

“It’s fine, Tom. I can get it for Mrs. Walton,” Hermione said with a forced smile towards her temporary colleague as her eyes shot daggers at him.

 

However, he didn’t bother answering her and headed straight for the storage room. Hermione jumped to her feet and nearly forgot Mrs. Walton was still standing there in her haste to go after Riddle. With a quick smile towards the elderly lady, Hermione hurried into the storage room and closed the door behind her.

 

“Riddle!” she hissed, aware that Mrs. Walton might hear her if she yelled.

 

“Your help is not required,” Tom said, his voice losing the warmth it had while they were outside.

 

Unexpectedly, a cold shiver ran down Hermione’s spine, but she brushed it away. She **_was_** a Gryffindor after all. Stomping up to where he was standing, she tilted her head up until she could see his face, which was made harder by the dim lights inside the room.

 

Once she got a permanent job here (and she would, if it were the last thing she did), she was going to add more candles in here. The lighting in the store was atrocious.

 

“Mrs. Walton is **_my_** customer,” she fumed in a low voice, “and you would do well to mind your own business.”

 

Amusement flashed through his eyes, and for a moment, Hermione marveled at the way his eyes almost seemed to be even brighter in the dark.

 

_As if he’s the predator._

 

“As far as I’m aware, she’s a customer of this shop and, thus, fair game,” he said smoothly

 

“Bollocks,” she spat out. “You know well enough that she looked for me, **_me_** , to buy things the last couple of times she’d come here. So keep your bloody paws off her.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, and he took a step towards her. “Oh? Then where would you suggest for me to put my, I quote, ‘bloody paws’ on?”

 

Alarm bells went off in Hermione’s mind. Quite suddenly, she felt that she’d become the prey to the predator she’d labeled not minutes ago.

 

She gaped at him before stuttering, “W-wh-what?”

 

“I said,” he replied, his voice lowering yet another notch as he took yet another step towards her. “Where would you suggest for me to put my ‘bloody paws’ on?”

 

She swallowed and took a step backwards. “Wha-what are you playing at, Riddle?”

 

His lips curled upwards into a wicked smile as he took one big step forwards. Startled, Hermione let out a yelp and stumbled backwards, crashing into her only way of escape.

 

One pale, long-fingered hand immediately covered her mouth, muffling any and all noises that might come from them. She immediately attempted to struggle against him, but he successfully stopped even that by immobilizing her body with his own.

 

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move or say anything. When Hermione angrily looked upwards, she found him waiting, as if he were listening to see if their commotion had alerted anyone. She moved again, attempting to get out.

 

“Hush,” he warned.

 

The simple word command wouldn’t have stopped her. Normally. However, the hard look he’d given her somehow managed to do so. It was a sharp contrast to his angelic features, and if Hermione were truthful, she would’ve admitted that at that moment, she was almost frightened for her own life.

 

It was strange, since she knew that Riddle could be nasty at times, but she’d never labeled him as “potentially dangerous”.

 

Until this moment.

 

Uncontrollably, she stared at him, as if she were seeing him for the first time. She’d never noticed how cold he could look when he was not smiling. A hint of cruelty lingered at the corners of his lips, and his eyes were bottomless, indecipherable, dark. At this second, it was as if he’d somehow allowed some kind of mask to dissipate into thin air.

 

_His smiles … those were his masks._

 

That thought came unbidden to her mind as she continued to ogle.

  
Then, it disappeared. As if it were a figment of her imagination, that **_look_** just slid off his face as he placed his attention back on her.

 

“Now … where were we?” he asked, a sly smile on his face.

 

That question caught Hermione off-guard, as she was still trying to figure out just which one was the real him—the detached, seemingly emotionless creature of the dark, or the outwardly charismatic young man with an occasional nasty streak.

 

While she stood there frozen, the hand that had been covering her mouth moved sidewards, captured a strand of her hair, and curled it around his finger. That snapped her out of her reverie, and incensed, she made a move to bite his hand. Unfortunately, his reflexes were quicker than hers, and his hand was out of the way before she could succeed in maiming him.

 

An eyebrow of his quirked upwards. “Violent, aren’t we?”

 

“Let me go and I’ll show you exactly how ‘violent’ I can be,” she growled.

 

Despite her anger, a furious blush still appeared on her face as she was reminded that he hadn’t moved away. His body was still molded against hers, and she could feel every breath he took. She imagined that if she’d wanted to, she could even feel his heartbeat.

 

“Does this make you uncomfortable, Hermione?” his smooth voice whispered into her ear, causing gooseflesh to erupt all over skin.

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d called her name, but somehow, he made it sound so … **_intimate_**. The girls back at Hogwarts had always gone on and on about how sexy his voice was, and she secretly acknowledged that his voice was … **_nice_** , but she’d never notice how sensual his voice could get when he willed it to be so.

 

And now, she was basically getting the full blast of it.

 

She muttered something that was incoherent even to her own ears, and he must have noticed how affected she was, since he chuckled, causing wisps of her hair to tickle her neck. She felt trapped, and in any other occasion, she might’ve felt uncomfortable about it. But for some reason … she liked this feeling, no matter how she tried to push those emotions away. Somehow, being overpowered like this made something similar to excitement stir at the pit of her stomach, as if she were waiting for something to happen.

 

Without warning, he stepped away, his eyes slightly hooded as he appraised her form until a light of understanding appeared on his face as well as a faint smile. She didn’t react, still not completely recovering from the abrupt change.

 

She stared at him with her eyes wide as he maneuvered her so that she was leaning against one of the shelves. It was only as he exited the storage room that she noticed that he was holding something gold with crystals as ornaments.

 

A frustrated hiss escaped her mouth as the door slammed shut.

 

xxx

 

“I’m starting to think you enjoy this, Granger,” Tom whispered, leaning forward so that his lips were right next to her ear. He then moved away, until he was staring down at her face.

 

Somehow, Hermione had managed to get herself trapped by his body again, though this time, it was on the table with him right on top of her. Both of her hands were caught by one of his and held high above her head. For the life of her, she would’ve never guessed that he possessed such strength. Now, she was pretty certain that the lean look he had was another false advertisement. Regardless of how hard she tried, she couldn’t struggle out of his hold, and her pride refused to allow her to scream for help.

 

Her heart pounded so hard that she was certain it would break out of her chest soon. Nonetheless, she had no idea if it were caused by fear or something else, a something else that she didn’t even want to think about at the moment.

 

She swallowed hard and willed her voice to stay calm.

 

“You’re delusional—downright barking mad! Get off me already, Riddle!”

 

He stared at her, and she thought it was the trick of the light when there seemed to be a vicious streak in his dark eyes.

 

“Delusional? You’re the one who kept following me into the storage room, Granger,” he said.

 

Somehow, she found the words to say, though they came out slightly disjointed and awkward.

 

“Follow—what—I have—” She took a deep breath and tried again. “You think that I’m following you? I’m not one of those lapdogs you had back at Hogwarts, Riddle!”

 

“Oh, really? It’s getting a bit hard to believe that when I happen to see that rat’s nest of yours—” His eyes flickered towards her hair. “—no matter where I go.”

 

Her irritation flared to life. Mustering all her strength, she fought against his hold, trying to free herself. When she wasted all her energy on the pointless struggle, her eyes snapped back towards his face.

 

“For your information, I wouldn’t have been following you around if you hadn’t been trying to butt your way into every conversation I have with a customer,” she hissed angrily.

 

“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward, closer to her. “There aren’t any ‘customers’ standing outside right now, Granger.”

 

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, stumped.

 

“Caught lying, aren’t we?” he murmured, his free hand reaching up and running a finger along her jawline.

 

Her skin tingled wherever he touched her, and her throat suddenly tightened. Subconsciously, her tongue flickered out to wet her dry lips, and his stare intensified, causing a warm feeling to unfurl at the pit of her stomach. Without warning, he dipped down and captured her lips with his.

 

Momentarily, she froze with shock, but the moment she regained control over her motions, she returned his kiss fervently.

 

As if that was what he’d been waiting for, he abruptly broke their kiss and rose, straightening his clothes casually, without a word, not looking at her at all. Hermione just lay there, hot and bothered, staring up at him in confusion.

 

“Riddle!” she shouted, leaning on her elbows, furious, when he turned on his heels and left the storage room.

 

xxx

 

In the days that followed, they hadn’t spoken much since their aborted kiss, just the bare necessities required to do their work. Of course, they’d kept being in each other’s way, but without their usual bickering. Hermione felt on edge around him and would be glad when he was finally gone because she would defeat him. No matter what it would take.

 

Yes, she would be glad when he was finally out of her sight forever. She didn’t want to look at that nice butt of his, or that wonderful lean, strong, tall frame of his, or those intense dark eyes that threatened to swallow you whole, or see that blasted smirk appear on his handsome, flawless face.

 

She dropped her head in her hands.

 

Oh Merlin, what was wrong with her? She’d started to sound like her former classmates had when referring to Tom Riddle.

 

Agitated, she levitated the large, heavy, oakwood, standing clock in front of her and started directing it from the storage room to the shop, where Riddle was supposed to make room for it next to the Vanishing Cabinet. She didn’t doubt for a second that it would be done to perfection, as everything else he ever did: effortlessly. It made her so envious. Everything she did caused her lots of work. Sure, she was clever and proficient at magic, but she needed to practise and study, unlike him. Why did he have to be so freaking good at everything? Why did he have to be so intelligent? She practically swooned thinking of that magnificent mind of his. That had to be his most attractive quality, and that was saying something, given the rest of him.

 

Oh no, she was thinking of Riddle again, and in a positive manner, too.

 

When had this obsession begun?

 

Well, she knew exactly when. After he’d stopped kissing her for some inconceivable reason. It was as if since then her body took notice of everything he did while she tried desperately to hide her completely inappropriate—because clearly he wasn’t interested—reactions from him. Why had he pushed her on that table to begin with? Was everything a game to him? Well, she wasn’t playing. Not to his rules. No.

 

“Watch out!” Riddle shouted.

 

_Crash!_

 

“Oww!”

 

The clock landed on Riddle’s legs since he was sitting on the floor as he’d been busy estimating the space between the Vanishing Cabinet and the wall where the clock was supposed to be. The clock moved to and fro, almost tipping over to the wall and threatening to crush Riddle permanently.

 

“Riddle!” Hermione flicked her wrist, moving the still dangling clock off him in a hurry. “I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?”

 

“Are you trying to kill me, woman?” Riddle snapped, checking himself over meticulously.

 

Hermione whipped out her wand and produced a diagnostic spell. It impacted on him before he had time to object. “It’s green all over,” Hermione said, relieved. “You’re fine.”

 

“‘Fine’, yeah, that’s the word I’d use if I’d thrown a massive piece of furniture on someone.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She held out her hand, but he ignored it, pushing himself up from the ground. “You’re sorry. Fat lot of good that does me.”

 

“Well, I figured you could use a wristwatch and decided to hand you a very special one.”

 

Stunned, Tom looked at her. Then, he bit his lip, trying not to laugh, before shaking his head and chuckling. “And they say you have no sense of humour, Granger.” He slapped her on the back. “Now why don’t you let _me_ put this clock in its place before we’re getting some real casualties.” He inspected the clock thoroughly, under Hermione’s watchful eye. “Fortunately, you’ve not damaged it. This thing costs a small fortune.”

 

‘Yeah, it’s amazing it’s still whole, considering the hard rock it landed on,” Hermione snarked.

 

Riddle snorted. ‘You might want to watch out there, Granger,” he said, levitating the clock. “You never know if my wand may waver.” The clock swung in Hermione’s direction, and she squealed, jumping away to Riddle’s intense amusement.

 

“Riddle!” Hermione yelled, running away from the huge clock that was now following her around rapidly. She looked for her wand, but it was no longer in her hand. It wasn’t in her pocket either. He must have taken it. All she could do was run and take cover. She only just sidestepped the hovering clock several times, her heart in her throat, her breaths panting, her brow perspiring. “Stop it!”

 

“I didn’t hear the magic words!”

 

“Eep!”

 

_Crash!_

 

“Are you still whole, Granger?” Riddle taunted.

 

“You’re going to destroy Borgin’s clock!” Hermione shouted, running around the counter, attempting to stay ahead of it while not cornering herself.

 

“I’ve warded it. _The clock_ ,” he emphasised, “will be fine.”

 

“Oh, well, that’s nice for _the clock_ ,” she said sarcastically.

 

The clock flew over the counter. There was nowhere else to go. Hermione rushed into the backroom, knowing that was a dead end.

 

“Riddle!” she yelled, pressed up against the wall. The clock hurled at her. “Riddle, **_please!_** ”

 

The clock stopped inches away from her and then, moved calmly back to its predestined spot in the shop. Riddle was just behind it, watching her with a pleased expression on his normally neutral face.

 

“Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Riddle said, walking towards her in deliberate, long strides.

 

Hermione swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. His hand cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes. His body pressed up against hers, and his breath brushed against her ear.

 

“You are mine.”

 

xxx

 

Since their clock incident, life had returned back to normal. Well, what was normal for them. They talked—well, bickered—as they always had. They did everything they could to block the other’s successes. They taunted and complained about each other. Often, they’d cast sideway glances at the other. Hermione did so when Riddle wasn’t looking, and Tom deliberately when she was. He clearly enjoyed watching her squirm and blush. They did everything except discuss their mutual attraction or act on it. At times, when they worked really, _really_ close, the sexual tension cut the air, but they stubbornly ignored it.

 

Hermione didn’t know what to say about the statement he’d made. She was conflicted about it. In the moment, she’d melted in his arms, feeling inexplicitly safe and secure, but now, in hindsight, she wasn’t sure what to think of it, especially since he hadn’t acted upon it at all.

 

Tom, on the other hand, felt no more words were necessary. He’d made his intentions clear, and she would learn soon enough.

 

xxx

 

It was the last day of their trial period month. Despite Riddle’s tremendous charm, his often irritating—under the guise of assisting her— demeanour to encroach on her clients and steal them away from under her nose, and his unbelievable ability to make people buy items they didn’t need and hadn’t come into the shop for, to Hermione’s surprise, she wasn’t that far behind in sales at all. It had to be because he often left the shop for hours, doing god only knew what. Sometimes he came back with a brown paper package under his arm, but she never saw what was in it. Hermione felt it was typical of him, being so irresponsible. He just didn’t seem to care about doing his job properly at all. She had reported him once, but he’d somehow weaseled out of it, as he always did, even at Hogwarts. It had resulted in her getting a scolding from Borgin, telling her to mind her own business, which had infuriated her beyond belief. She really had to catch up to Riddle’s sales, even if it were the last thing she ever did.

 

She just needed a killing.

 

Unfortunately for her, Riddle was already hovering over the immensely fat, elderly lady that had entered, smooching her up big time.

 

Hermione frowned. What was so important about this customer?

 

Besides that she obviously came from money, judging by the expensive clothes and jewellery she wore, the woman looked like a clown in Hermione’s honestly unbiased opinion. The amount of makeup she had on made teenage girls’ choices look restrained. Hermione was no fashion aficionado, but even she questioned those who wore a ginger wig with pink robes.

 

Still, it couldn’t be just that the witch was wealthy. They had plenty of rich customers, even better looking ones, and Riddle didn’t behave like this around any of them. Something had to be special about this particular witch because even for him, this was much. He was practically grovelling around her, and Hermione had never, _ever_ seen Riddle grovel before. It was so strange she just couldn’t pull her eyes away from it. He was laying it on thick, but the lady seemed to adore every word he said. He touched her arm, and the woman giggled like a hysterical teenager. It made Hermione’s skin crawl. If she hadn’t know that he obviously did it to gain something, she might’ve been jealous, but now she wasn’t.

 

Oh no, she wasn’t.  

 

That woman could be his great-great-great-great-grandmother anyway.

 

No, she wasn’t jealous at all.

 

Hermione glared at Riddle’s back. This time, it was her turn. She wasn’t going to sit back and allow Riddle to win. She just needed a small window of opportunity.

 

She made a tiny, itty-bitty wish to every vengeful deity out there to assist her.

 

She would do anything they asked if they’d just grant her this one victory over Riddle.

 

 

Pretty please, just one win.

 

She had to wipe that smug, arrogant expression of his ridiculously handsome face.

 

When she overheard the witch ask if Wenlock’s Personal Number Chart was already in, Hermione knew her chance had come. Quickly, she whisked her wand at the storage room, transporting the chart in question to the Vanishing Cabinet standing front and centre in the shop and warding it for good measure. As Riddle passed the cabinet unwittingly, Hermione sent him a polite smile. He replied with a smug smirk, clearly telling her what a horrible salesperson she was.

 

He was about to find out just how horrible.

 

The doorbell chimed, and a raggedy-looking man walked in. His robes were torn and filthy, his hair unkempt, and his face had a nasty scar on his chin that wasn’t even hidden by his clearly many days old stubble. The elderly witch pulled her nose up and reached into her pockets. A finely embroidered handkerchief appeared in her hand, and she dabbed her nose with it as the bloke passed her.

 

“Too bad you always miss out on the true clients, Granger, but don’t worry. You may have that hobo,” Riddle whispered as he passed her.

 

Her fists clenched around the counter, and it took all her willpower to keep her facial expressions neutral. She’d show him who got the true clients.

 

“Can I help you with anything, sir?” she asked.

 

“No, thank you, I’m just looking,” the man said, picking up a china doll and examining it.

 

The elderly lady was clearly uncomfortable in the man’s presence. She actually moved as far away from the man as possible, leaving her pile of already chosen items alone.

 

_Perfect_.

 

As soon as Riddle had completely disappeared behind the curtain to the storage room, Hermione flew into action. She swiftly walked towards the elderly lady and introduced herself, finding out the witch’s name was Hepzibah Smith.

 

Sideway glancing towards the man, she said, “I could wrap your gifts while Tom retrieves Wenlock’s Chart for you. If you would follow me to the counter, I can save you some precious time, Mrs. Smith.”

 

“And you won’t have to stand in the vicinity of that smelly, poor man” was left unsaid.

 

Mrs. Smith let out a relieved sigh and nodded. “That would be appreciated, child. Thank you.”

 

Making sure no time was wasted, Hermione whipped her wand around, wrapping all the presents expertly in one single move. She added everything that was possible: colourful ribbons coming together in a giant bow, a perfume-scented rose, sparkling stars and glitters on each and every one of them. Hermione figured it was impossible to go overboard with this woman. Mrs. Smith let out a squeal of excitement and picked up several of the packages, turning them around to admire Hermione’s handiwork.

 

“That’s so beautiful, my dear child. You can wrap my presents any time. You’ve got a knack for wizarding gift-wrapping. I can see why they hired you.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” Hermione said, beaming.

 

“It’s my plea—”

 

“How much is this?” the haggard-looking man interrupted, holding out a gnome puppet to Hermione.

 

Mrs. Smith shied away from him, her face disgusted.

 

“It’s two Galleons,” Hermione replied politely, even though the stench reached her nostrils easily as well, despite the counter providing some distance.

 

“Outrageous,” the man replied, taking back the gnome in his greasy hand and resuming his search.

 

Mrs. Smith leaned forward, gesturing at Hermione to come closer, too. When Hermione did so, Mrs. Smith whispered, “You better watch out he’s not stealing anything.”

 

“I am,” Hermione whispered back. “But it would be foolish of him to try that here. All our items have anti-theft curses on them. The effect is not pretty.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Mrs. Smith replied, looking hesitantly over her shoulder. “But those people never learn.”

 

_Those people?_

 

“Hmm-hmm,” Hermione nodded, not wanting to botch up her sale, but suddenly thinking that Mrs. Smith and Riddle were made for each other. They both looked down their noses at others.

 

“And how much is this?” the man interrupted, making Mrs. Smith jump slightly.

 

“Also two Galleons.”

 

“Come on, this is clearly a fake fairy. Surely, it’s worth five Sickles tops.”

 

“Because it’s a fake fairy, it’s only two Galleons. The real ones are twenty Galleons at the least.”

 

“But it’s got an arm missing.”

 

Hermione whisked her wand. “Not anymore.”

 

The man walked away, grumbling about ridiculously overpriced merchandise.

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he had broken it off, just to get a discount,” Mrs. Smith said, standing there clearly uncomfortable. She kept looking back over her shoulder, worried the man would return, and clutched to her handbag. “Could you check what’s keeping Tom, my dear?”

 

_No, she really couldn’t._

 

“It’ll probably be a while, Mrs. Smith. We’ve had a large delivery this morning, and our storage room is quite a mess. However, given that you’re such a fine and trusted customer—” Riddle wasn’t the only one who could suck up. “—and you have been waiting quite some time now, I can have all your packages, including Wenlock’s chart, delivered to your home, free of charge.”

 

“Oh,” Mrs. Smith said, her eyes lighting up in excitement. “Will that lovely young man, Tom, bring it to my house personally, then?”

 

_Suuuure, lovely Tom will_ , Hermione thought sardonically, but instead she said, “Of course, Ma’am, it’ll be our pleasure.”

 

Interrupting them abruptly, another puppet was put under Hermione’s nose. “And this troll?”

 

“Two Galleons,” Hermione said to the man, “As it says so on the shelf, all cursed imitation puppets are two Galleons.”

 

“Got anything cheaper?”

 

“Try the bottom shelf in the third row on your left, sir.”

 

“Thanks,” the guy mumbled, walking away again.

 

The interruption and the promise of Tom’s visit seemed to have settled the deal for Mrs. Smith as she pulled her purse from her handbag. “How much do I owe you, my dear?”

 

Hermione tapped the cash register with her wand. A sign stating: “One hundred and forty-two Galleons and nine Sickles” popped out on top of it. Mrs. Smith handed Hermione one hundred and fifty Galleons, telling her to share the surplus with Tom. Hermione would be most pleased to do so. She had come out on top. She was now the best selling salesperson of Borgin and Burkes in one sale, and there was no way Riddle could catch up to her before the end of this day. She’d won! She got the job!

 

“Thank you for shopping at Borgin and Burkes,” Hermione said, watching Mrs. Smith exit the shop.

 

At the sound of the doorbell chiming, Tom re-entered the shop, a box containing the priceless Wenlock’s Personal Number Chart in his hands. Hermione wasn’t surprised he’d broken through her wards to get it. She was impressed he’d been able to do so without alerting anyone in the shop. The item hadn’t been in the storage room after all. Getting it unnoticably as he’d done showed what a truly skilled wizard he really was. Luckily, it had taken him long enough for her to get the job done.

 

“I see you found it,” Hermione said cheerfully. “You can put it with the rest of her presents. I just magicked them to the third row in the storage room, middle shelf.”

 

Tom’s eyes searched the store frantically, turning darker and darker by the second. His hands clutched the box, hard.

 

“That was _my_ client,” he hissed, furious.

 

“As far as I’m aware, she’s a client of this shop, and thus, fair game,” Hermione said, pleased to return the favour. “But let me put that away for you.”

 

She moved towards him, holding out her hands to accept the box. He, however, didn’t move. He merely gazed at her in a manner that made her skin crawl. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say her life was in danger right now. But that couldn’t be. Not for a silly job like this. She knew he’d had better offers, unlike her. He could do so much better. She needed this one. She needed the money.

 

“I’ll take that back before you ruin it, too,” Riddle snapped, swirling around.

 

Hermione followed him directly. So, he’d flirted with her, kissed her, and told her she was his, but she wasn’t taking this kind of behaviour from anybody, least of all him.

 

“I’m not ruining anything. I made the sale because I need this job. I need the money.”

 

Tom walked on, ignoring her.

 

“Riddle.”

 

He didn’t answer her.

 

“Riddle!”

 

He placed the box with the other presents and walked past her, pretending she wasn’t there.

 

“Riddle, stop ignoring me.”

 

Abruptly, he swirled around, grabbed her, and pushed her up against the shelves. “You really don’t want my attention right now, Granger. Are you honestly that naive to think you’re the only one who needs work?” he hissed. “You can get a job anywhere. I suggest you leave, for your own good.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hermione said through clenched teeth. “You can bloody well leave, for your own good,” she mimicked snidely.

 

“You’re infuriating,” he said, his muscles tense, an elaborate display of forced restraint.

 

“ _You’re_ infuriating,” she replied, pissed.

 

“I needed that client!”

 

“So did I!”

 

“Not as much as …” he suddenly stopped as if he’d realised he’d said too much.

 

He stilled; she could almost see the wheels of his mind turning.

 

“Why?” Hermione asked carefully, softly.

 

“None of your business,” Riddle snapped.

 

“Why is that fat cow so important to you, Riddle? I swear, I’ve seen you act around customers before, but nothing like you were with Smith. What’s it about her?”

 

“Gee, Granger, that sounds as if you’re jealous.”

 

“Don’t change the subject. What do you want with Hepzibah Smith?”

  
Tom almost deflated, as if he’d given up. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore now, does it?”

 

She’d never heard Tom Riddle sound so utterly defeated; it broke her heart, gnawed at her guilty conscious. She had stolen that customer away from him, and what for? Simply to win? How utterly selfish.

 

“Is there anything I can do?” she tentatively asked, placing a hand on his arm.

 

“Well,” he scratched the back of his head, his voice uncertain, “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe, there is. If you’re willing? But you wouldn’t be, no. Never mind.”

 

“No, just say so,” she insisted. “I want to help.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really.”

 

He just stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then, he suddenly snorted, and laughed loudly. Extremely loudly.

 

“What!” Hermione snapped, not getting the fun.

 

“Oh, you’re something else, Granger. Scolding others for being oh so gullible and easily manipulated, and all it takes is this, and you cave in an instant.” He roared with laughter. “What were you going to do: hand the sales to me?”

 

Hermione glared at him. “You think you’re so funny. You think you never need any help—”

 

“That’s because I don’t,” he interrupted smugly.

 

“You think that if you show you don’t care, it doesn’t matter that others don’t care about you either.”

 

“Boohoo, woe is me. Gullible again, Granger?”

 

“Well, fine, be this way. I was going to help you carry that pile of boxes to Mrs. Smith, but now you can just bloody well bring them all by your mighty, self-reliant self,” Hermione ranted, not noticing Tom had stilled on the spot. “I was going to come with you, so you’d have someone there to deflect her unwanted attention to, but I’m sure you can make a nice afternoon of it. She’s really looking forward to having you all to herself.”

 

Hermione pushed against his chest, attempting to get him off her; but it was like moving rock, he didn’t budge for one inch. He just stared at her with a peculiarly possessive glint in his dark eyes.

 

“Let go of me, Riddle,” she said, suddenly feeling unsure if that was what she truly wanted.

 

Her eyes widened when instead he caught her lips in a searing kiss. She couldn’t not return it. He was the best kisser she ever had. Their kissing felt as if they were hanging on for mere life, as if the world depended on it, as if he were trying to merge them into one being, as if he were trying to swallow her whole. He was holding her oh so tightly; she could barely breathe.

 

She didn’t quite get what caused the change in behaviour. She didn’t quite care. If only he kept doing what he was doing now. She didn’t care that his moods could fluctuate from hot to cold within a split second. Anyone trying to make sense of it would end up in an asylum themselves anyway. No, all she needed was this.

 

No, she needed more than this.

 

So much more.

 

Her hands roamed over his body, wanting to feel all of him.

 

“Oye! What’s a bloke got to do to get some service around here?” the raggedy man said, standing in the doorway with his chosen purchase in hand.

 

“ _Imperio!_ ” Tom casts. _“Obliviate!”_

 

The shabby man’s eyes glazed over, and he turned away with his deformed puppet in hand, tossing one Galleon on the counter in passing.

 

“Tom!” Hermione hissed reproachfully. “You can’t just—”

 

He silenced her with his mouth, but she struggled away.

 

“You can’t just use an Unforgivable like that. It’s illegal.”  
  
“You’d rather he’d tell Borgin or Burke what he’d seen us do? We’d both be out of a job.”

 

“They could send you to Azkaban for it!”

 

“He’s not going to remember, so unless you plan on telling …” he trailed off.

 

“No, of course not, but you can’t just use Unforgivables like it’s nothing.”

 

“It wasn’t nothing. I just saved your job, Granger. A ‘thank you’ might be a more appropriate response.”

 

“You want a ‘thank you’ for that?”

 

He smirked, winking at her. “I’ve already got in mind on how you can repay me.”

 

Hermione yelped when he twirled her around, so her front was facing the many shelves on the wall. He quickly pressed up against her from behind, grabbing her wrists and forcing her hands up to hold onto one of the shelves, his fingers covering hers. His head brushed the side of hers, and she could hear him chant something in a language she didn’t understand.

 

Suddenly, his hands moved down over her arms, but she could still feel his fingers covering hers. Hermione looked up, seeing only her hands holding the shelf. She tested if she could move them, but as expected, she was held down tightly. Excitement rushed through her, unfurling something undefinable in the pit of her stomach. She liked this feeling of being held, of being contained, a lot. Her heart raced; her blood pounded; and her temperature was beginning to rise.

 

He slowly stroked her wild bush of hair to the side, wrapping his fingers around the curly strands, his mouth barely touching the sensitive skin of her neck as he lay butterfly kisses all over her exposed skin. When he got near to her ear, she squirmed against his body and giggled, unable to stay still due to the ticklish sensation of it. He pressed himself firmer against her, pushing her body harder against the boxes and shelves, while pulling her head back on her hair, holding her firmly in place as his mouth continued to investigate every inch of her.

 

His free hand stroked her side, magically removing her clothing nonverbally.

 

“You belong to me, Granger,” he said darkly, his hand cupping her breast and squeezing it.

 

She arched against him as his fingers expertly teased her nipples. The sensation shot directly to her core, and she could feel herself getting wetter and wetter with every action he undertook.

 

“Say it,” he ordered, in that quiet, demanding tone of his.

 

His voice did things to her she couldn’t explain; it wrapped around her like silk and drew her in to never let go. But she wasn’t that far gone yet not to realise the implications of what he was asking, demanding, of her.

 

“Say what?” she taunted, smirking.

 

If he wanted something from her, he bloody well would have to work for it, show her he was worthy. She wasn’t going to submit to just anybody, not even to anybodies who were incredibly tall, dark and handsome ... and charming ... and intelligent.

 

 

“Was there something _you_ wanted?” she continued in the most smug manner she could manage while in her current position.

 

“Well …” Tom paused. “If you’re not going to cooperate, I suppose I will have to teach you a lesson about obeying your superiors.”

 

“Hah!” Hermione snorted. “You wis—”

 

She never got to finish her sentence. Her grunts were all that filled the air as her speech was now restricted by the gag in her mouth.

 

Tom chuckled, patting her on her head condescendingly. “I wouldn’t be a responsible Master if I didn’t ... _explain_ to my little pet how to behave, now would I? And if you won’t answer as you’re required to do, this is what happens, little one.

 

“Now, where was I?

 

“Oh yes. This is all mine.”

 

Both his hands and mouth began teasing her body all over, making her squirm and letting out muffled moans. She had no idea one man could make her feel like this. It was like her body went into overload—so many pleasurable stimuli, she didn’t know how to process them all. When he began rubbing her clit, her mind went blank, and she bit the gag because she couldn’t scream as she really wanted to. Suddenly, he entered her from behind, pushing her delirium to the next level as he pounded into her. She met his thrusts vigorously, wanting—no needing—it harder. As if he’d heard her unspoken plea, he increased the strength with which he was ramming into her.

 

She could feel it coming. So, so close. Then, he shifted the angle with which he was pounding into her with a particularly hard thrust and successfully pushed her over the edge. His arm wrapped around her waist when her knees caved upon her climax, and he held her up, continuing to thrust into her and expanding her amazingly mind-blowing orgasmic experience until his release was finally there.

 

Her bounds loosened, and they fell backwards, landing softly on some mattress he’d cleverly conjured there.

 

“Are you going to be a good, obedient girl now, so I can remove your gag?” Tom asked, stroking through her damp hair.

 

Hermione nodded.

 

With a smooth gesture of his long-fingered hand, the gag vanished, and she panted for air.

 

“So …” Tom said, pausing deliberately for effect, “who do you belong to?”

 

“You,” she replied softly, snuggling up against him.

 

They were resting there for a while, when suddenly, the doorbell of the shop chimed and someone clearly paced to the counter. Panicky, Hermione tried to rise, but Tom pulled her back down.

 

“It’s warded; they can’t get in,” he said reassuringly.

 

“Granger! Riddle!” Burke shouted.

 

Now they both flew to their feet. With a quick wave of his wand, Tom had them both dressed, while Hermione banished the mattress. Just in time, Tom dropped his wards, as Burke came walking in.

 

“There you two are,” Burke grumbled. “Didn’t you hear the doorbell?”

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Burke,” Hermione said. “We were concentrating on the inventory you told us to take.”

 

“Fine, but always keep an eye on the shop first,” he said. “We wouldn’t want people stealing things while you were out here. Speaking of you both, I’m pleased to say that we’ve decided to extend your trial period with another month. You’re both doing very well—”

 

Hermione and Tom glanced at each other.

 

“—and we’re not quite sure who’s more deserving of the job at this point. So congratulations for now to you both.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione and Tom said in unison.

 

“That’s quite alright. Hermione, if you could please lock up today, I have an appointment I need to be at. Tom, you can take the rest of the day off. Borgin didn’t have anymore errands for you to run.”

 

Tom gave him a courteous smile and nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take the delivery with me as I go.”

 

“Delivery?”

 

“Mrs. Smith purchased quite a large number of items from the store today. She asked for it to be delivered to her home.”

 

“Excellent. Good of you to offer that to her, Tom.”

 

“It’s no problem, sir,” Tom replied, causing Hermione to narrow her eyes. It had been her idea to extend this service to Mrs. Smith, and he was simply taking all the credit. “Her house is on my way home anyway.”

 

“Well, it’s an excellent initiative nevertheless. You should pay attention to Tom’s resourcefulness, Hermione. You can learn something from it,” Burke said, patting her back. “We need more customers like Mrs. Smith, and I know for a fact that Borgin would love for her to sell some of her more _special_ items to us. Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to be going now. I’ll see you both first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

“Till morning,” Hermione said cheerfully.

 

“Good day, sir,” Tom said politely.

 

When Caractacus Burke left the shop, they looked at each other. Hermione was just about to scold Tom for not telling Burke it had been her idea to deliver the items, but he snorted, halting her. What was so funny?

 

“‘We’re not quite sure who’s more deserving of the job at this point,’” Tom repeated mockingly. “More like our sales are up by seventy-five percent.”

 

Ah, that was why. Tom did have a point there. Burke could’ve simply told them that, but apparently, he didn’t want to give credit where it was due, too.

 

“He must think we never check the ledger,” Hermione said, brushing her clothes.

 

“Clearly,” Tom agreed, levitating Mrs. Smith’s parcels into a special Borgin and Burkes delivery bag that Hermione had cleverly created to contain much more than was expected upon seeing the outside appearance of the bag. “So, Granger, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

 

“Till tomorrow,” Hermione whispered, staring at his retreating form wistfully.

 

She had so much she wanted to discuss with him. Apparently, it would just have to wait until the next day.

 

xxx

 

Alas, Hermione’s plans were thwarted by his lacking presence the next day; there was nobody to discuss anything with. She didn’t get any answers from the owners with regards to Tom’s whereabouts either. It was all extremely frustrating.  

 

The working days seemed to pass slower. The customer flow wasn’t as big as it usually was, and it was made even more noticeable by the absence of Tom. Of course, she wouldn’t go as far as to acknowledge that she missed him. She merely was upset because they had to talk. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , stay away because of her, would he? She knew she wasn’t that experienced, but she hadn’t been that bad, had she?

 

A frown seemed to have imprinted itself permanently on her forehead nowadays. It had been three days since the day he’d gone to deliver the merchandises to Hepzibah, three days since he’d promised that they would see each other the next day.

 

Three days since he’d disappeared without a trace.

 

At first, she’d thought that he was out running errands for Borgin, but in the past, he would always arrive after a few hours. She had no idea where he was and why he had disappeared so suddenly.

 

The thought that he might’ve eloped with Hepzibah made her nauseated, and she tried to think of something else, some other reason why he might’ve disappeared.

 

However, nothing would’ve prepared her for the shocking news on _The Daily Prophet_ this morning, after nearly a week had passed. She probably wouldn’t have noticed it if Hepzibah’s haughty face hadn’t been sneering at people from the front page.

 

She was walking down Diagon Alley towards Knockturn Alley when her eyes caught the picture, along with the glaring title of “KILLER OF RUMOURED HEIR OF HUFFLEPUFF FOUND”.

 

Disregarding the indignant squawks by the person whom she’d grabbed the papers from, her eyes took in the words faster than her brain could register the message.

 

“Another murder case solved! Authorities have found that Hepzibah Smith (age 223), who was found dead in her own home nearly a week ago, had been killed by none other than her house-elf, Hokey. Though the murder had been accidental—”

 

At this point, the papers was snatched out of her hands.

 

“Get yer own copy!” the man whom she’d taken _The Daily Prophet_ from grunted before walking quickly away to put as much distance as he could from her.

 

Hermione, on the other hand, didn’t even notice the dirty look the wizard had thrown her way while he was hurrying away. As if in a daze, she continued walking until she reached Borgin and Burkes. She absentmindedly opened the door and entered the shop, all the while thinking about what she had read and processing the information. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice it until Burke called her name twice.

 

“Hermione!”

 

She jerked back to reality and blinked at her boss. “Oh, I—I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Burke. I was a bit … immersed in my own thoughts.”

 

Burke waved off her explanation. “I just wanted to tell you that you’ve gotten the job.”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“I said you’ve gotten the job. Tom resigned early this morning.”

 

“He resigned!?” she asked, startled. _He’d been here?_

 

Burke looked at her strangely, seemingly perplexed by her outburst. “Yes, he did.”

 

“Why?” she pressed on.

 

Burke raised his eyebrows at her. “We didn’t ask. Borgin did try to convince him to stay, but he rejected the offer.”

 

She stood there in shock for a while; she didn’t even know when Burke had re-entered his office, leaving her to stand in the middle of the shop like some kind of mannequin. The news he’d delivered to her was essentially a second bomb being dropped on top of her head, and for some reason, there was a niggling feeling at the back of her head that there was something there. She couldn’t shake away the thought that somehow, these two events were connected in some way or another. That thought, in and of itself, made her feel uneasy even when she’d finished dusting the cabinets and shelves and had proceeded to sit down behind the counter.

 

Suddenly, it connected.

 

With a start, she stood up, her eyes unseeing as she stared in front of her. Her heart pounded heavily against her chest and she took in breaths heavily.

 

No. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible—

 

She slammed both of her hands onto the counter and leaned forward, slightly dizzy from the revelation that the emotional half of her mind was unwilling to accept. Her body rocked back and forth as the epiphany danced around in her head, forcing her to acknowledge it.

 

But try as she might, she didn’t want to believe that Tom Marvolo Riddle was the one who’d killed Hepzibah Smith and framed an house-elf for it.

 

Still, he’d left abruptly, left behind a job he’d been vigorously fighting to get, left behind ... _her_. Innocent people didn’t leave the scene of a crime, unless … unless he’d seen the real killer and feared for his life.

 

She had to do something, had to know the truth. She started by investigating what Borgin and Burkes had on file about Hepzibah Smith. It was mostly about valuable articles they sold to and from her. Hermione’s heart sunk when the ledger clearly stated “confirmed Salazar Slytherin’s, silver locket with an emerald snake design” followed by the exorbitant price they’d sold it for. She could only imagine that would appeal to a Slytherin, especially to one as proud of and obsessed with his House as Tom always had been.

 

Was she seriously now considering him a thief as well?

 

That couldn’t be.  

 

She needed to know more. After work, she would go to Hepzibah Smith’s house and investigate the crime scene.

 

xxx

 

Trees, trees, and more trees. If she had been sent on this wild goose chase because of the wrong information, she knew who she would add to her “Need To Be Hexed” list.

 

It had been days since she’d searched through the many forests in Albania. At least that was what the old beggar had told her. Someone fitting Tom’s description had asked for directions to some forest—specifically some tree!—in Albania. Hermione wasn’t sure whether or not to believe the beggar. The man didn’t know or couldn’t remember much. Not why Tom was looking for a tree of all things or in which forest, of course, not even after she’d given him ten Galleons. And Albania turned out to have far too many forests to her liking. So, this search began to feel more and more like finding a needle in a haystack.  

 

However, it was all the information she had, and she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She wasn’t second best of her year (bloody Riddle) for nothing. She had even narrowed down the number of forests she had to go through by zeroing in on those that had had magical activities performed in them before.

 

“A tree in Albania … suuuuure,” she muttered to herself as she stalked through yet another forest.

 

Thankfully, she had been clever enough to magick a beaded bag that had a bigger capacity than it seemed from the outside. Thus, she had been able to bring along all of her everyday necessities inside one small, beaded bag. Otherwise, she could imagine that the journey would’ve been much more difficult.

 

Speaking of difficult, it was getting dark, and she didn’t think it was safe to walk through this clearly magical forest in the middle of the night. The noises that reached her ears sent shivers down her spine. It all reminded her a bit too much of the Forbidden Forest and its lethal creatures, so she wasn’t taking any chances. Disappointed she had to postpone her search, she Apparated back to the inn she’d seen earlier that day

 

The next morning her luck seemed to change. The waitress at the inn she’d been staying at overnight told her that an English, tall, dark, and handsome young man had been staying there only yesterday. Hermione wished she had a photo of Tom, but after the waitress raved on and on and on about how charming and cute the man had been, there was no more doubt in her mind it was Tom Marvolo Riddle.

 

Hermione felt she was incredibly lucky to have run into this waitress because Tom had asked her a vital question. He’d shown her a picture of a tiara with a large, blue sapphire stone at the centre. The waitress remembered it clearly because of what she felt was a pretentious quote etched on the diadem: “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure”. Apparently, Tom had asked her if anyone had ever heard of a legend involving this tiara being hidden somewhere around here. The waitress had heard rumours of a powerful magical item being hidden, but the legends didn’t say what it was and nobody had ever found it. The waitress considered it just another wizarding myth.

Hermione’s heart sunk. Another priceless Founder collectable. She could no longer just throw it on coincidence.

 

Her stubbornness, however, forced her to continue. She had to know the truth. She’d come too far to give up now. She began scouting through the forest in the direction the waitress had told her Tom had gone towards. She had been confident that she was correct in her assumption that he would be looking for the Ravenclaw diadem around here, especially after been told about those rumours, but after days of not finding who she was looking for, her confidence started to waver.

 

What if she had been wrong? What if he wasn’t here? What if it’d been someone else who’d talked to the waitress?

 

Those thoughts both worried and relieved her. If he weren’t here, then perhaps he didn’t have anything to do with Hepzibah’s death and the disappearance of her two Founder objects after all. Nonetheless, that also meant that she was again left with no idea where he was, and for some reason, her mind had latched on to the belief that she must find him.

 

The logical part of her mind wondered why she was so insistent about finding him. It wasn’t like the ministry would listen. She doubted they would even care if Tom ran through the streets proclaiming he was the one who’d killed Hepzibah. They were so stubbornly insistent that it was the fault of the poor house-elf and dismissive of anything that suggested otherwise. Never mind the fact that Tom could probably still weasel his way out of it if they actually did suspect him of being the murderer.

 

She could’ve been back in London, working as the official employee at Borgin and Burkes, a position she’d wanted, _needed_ , since months ago. Tom had basically handed it to her on a silver platter with his resignation.

 

So why was she so determined to find him and demand for the truth? It wasn’t like it would matter much anymore.

 

However, the stubborn side of her urged her to trudge on through the forest, seeking for signs that might lead her to him.

 

xxx

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 

Tom!” she called out, both relieved and angry at the same time.

 

Just when she thought she would never find him, she did. He was examining a tree, and his form stiffened and froze when she called out his name. However, Hermione noticed none of this as she quickly trekked over the grassy ground to reach where he was standing.

 

Almost too slowly, he swiveled around and was looking in her direction. When he saw her, his eyes widened for a split-second before he closed his eyes, frowning in the process, as if he were displeased to see her.

 

“What are you doing here?” he hissed when she stopped a few feet away from him and before she could open her mouth.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she spat out.

 

_You killed Hepzibah Smith, didn’t you?_ was about to spill out of her mouth before she caught herself. She was uncertain in regards to why she stopped, but somehow, the words got caught in her throat. Looking at him, right now, at this moment, made her unwilling to face the conclusion she had reached days ago.

 

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, his voice losing some of the hostility it had a few seconds ago and acquiring a hint of curiosity.

 

“I—”

 

The words got stuck before they made it out of her lips again. It wasn’t all that hard for her to deduce that he was after things that were somehow connected to the Hogwarts Founders after he’d made off with the two that had been in Hepzibah’s possession and was now clearly looking for a third. However, that would mean she would have to confront him about the murder.

 

Though she’d witnessed how he was so nonchalant about using the Unforgivables, or at least, the Imperius Curse, she didn’t want to believe that he could so easily murder someone and frame someone else when there had to be so many other ways he could’ve gotten those items in his possession. It made no sense.

 

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she missed the glint of realization that passed through his eyes and the surprised approval that flitted across his face as he took in the expressions that appeared on hers. However, he quickly recomposed himself, and a mask of casual politeness slid over his features when she glanced at him again.

 

“Shouldn’t you be back at Borgin and Burkes now? I assumed that they would’ve given you the position after I’d resigned,” he said before he quirked an eyebrow at her and allowed a mocking glint to enter his eyes. “Or are you so lost without me giving you directions in regards to how to properly do your job that they fired you?”

 

She rolled her eyes and let out a huff of indignation. “Nobody fired me. I resigned. Apparently, it’s the modern thing to do.”

 

“Are you copying me in everything I do?” he asked, sniggering.

 

“No, not everything,” she replied sharply.

 

That took the humour out of his eyes, turning his facial expression blank in an instant. Quietly, he appraised her, his eyes slowly going over her body. Unnerved by that intense gaze, Hermione shifted on her feet. She suddenly was scared and aroused at the same time. What was wrong with her? Why did he have this effect on her? What had she been thinking, confronting a possible murderer all alone in these deserted woods?

 

“Why are you here … _Hermione?_ ” he asked, making her name sound oh so sinful.

 

“I—I—”

 

“Don’t lie,” he warned softly. “Why are you really here?”

 

“Did you kill Hepzibah Smith?” she blurted out, her fists clenching.

 

He didn’t react to the accusation, his face remaining as emotionless as it had been before she asked that loaded question. Slowly, he took a step in her direction, and another, and another, until he stopped right in front of her. It took everything of her to resist the urge to retreat, her nails pressing into the palms of her hands. When he raised his hand, her hand disappeared into her pocket, clenching around her wand. He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, almost daring her to draw it. When she refrained, he merely cupped her cheek.

 

“I'll repeat my question, Hermione. ‘Why are you really here?’” he asked quietly.

 

“I’ve implied why. I’ve asked you a question,” she said, angrily slapping his hand away.

 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve asked a question you already know the answer to, my little one. You’ve asked me that while—” His hand pointed out the scenery around them. “—we’re here.” He closed the distance between them, one hand casually resting on her side while his fingers curled around the back of her neck in an intimate yet cautioning manner.

 

She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

 

He leaned in to her ear and practically breathed, “You’ve confronted me with that all alone, knowing from experience I’m the far better dueller of the two of us. So, that begs the question, why are you here?”

 

Hermione trembled; tears began to well up in her eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she said, dropping her forehead against his shoulder in defeat.

 

His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly to him. The fingers that were holding her neck firmly now softly stroked the skin there, slowly moving to the front and lifting her chin.

 

“Look at me,” he ordered sternly.

 

There was no way she could not obey. His presence was sheerly overwhelming. He engulfed her fully, causing her to feel things she hadn’t deemed possible when she’d started searching for him or even mere seconds ago. Her whole being stood at attention for him, and she couldn’t understand why that was, nor did she care. She just wanted him.

 

“Keep looking straight into my eyes.”

 

When she complied, his hand slid from her chin into her hair.

 

“Good girl,” he purred, gazing directly into her eyes. “ _Legilimens!_ ”  

 

Memories, too many of them, flitted by before her mind’s eye. She couldn’t keep up. It hurt. It hurt so much.

 

“St-stop,” she stuttered. “Ple-please stop.”

 

But he mercilessly continued, watching her many memories like a film, as if they were there solely for his entertainment. The world lost its focus; she could only see that redness in his dark eyes. When she finally crashed into his arms, exhausted, she just heard him mutter “clever, foolish, little girl” before she lost consciousness.

 

xxx

 

When she woke, she was alone, cold and naked, tied in a spread eagle position on some kind of stone elevation. Trying to free herself, Hermione pulled on her restraints. The second she did, she regretted it because those invisible ropes burned red-hot into her wrists. Quickly she stilled, and the heat stopped, leaving her wrists blistered and hurt. Her head swivelled around, trying to take in her surroundings.

 

Candles were barely lighting the tiny, circular, cave-like place she was in. Underneath her, drawn on the floor, she noticed several points that indicated she had to be lying above a large hexagram; a symbol used to bind and control supernatural beings like witches, as she knew from her textbooks. There were all sorts of symbols drawn on the walls and the ceiling, too. Most she didn’t recognise, but a couple she did. The rune of power was situated on her left, while the mathematical symbol straight ahead indicated infinity. Right above her, however, was the biggest and most worrisome, yet slightly enticing, picture of all—the one clearly depicting a Master and slave.

 

She couldn’t see an exit of any sort.

 

Not that she was in any position to be going anywhere. Clearly.

 

How long had she been here? Her body wasn’t hurting, despite lying on cold, hard rock, but that could simply be the result of some kind of charm, protecting her from harm.

 

Yeah, riiiight.

 

He was going to protect her, after she’d let him know everything she knew. When had he learned to perform Legilimency to begin with? It wasn’t part of the Hogwarts curriculum.

 

Oh, Merlin, she was so dead. He was going to kill her. She was going to die.

 

Anxiously, she glanced around. This sure was an elaborate way to kill her, if that were what he was truly planning to do. Doubt seeped in. She realised she really had no idea what would happen to her, but what she did know was that she seemed to be alone.

 

Where was Tom? What would he be doing? What could be so important that he wasn’t here right now? He wasn’t here, right?

 

She looked around the room again, careful not to move her restraints in order not to get burned again. It wasn’t very difficult, given how tiny the place was. However, as if on cue, he Apparated into the room.

 

His black cloak swirled around like an ominous cloud before settling around his body. It felt as if some kind of curtain had been lifted and, for the first time since she’d met him, she was seeing his true self. The darkness that he’d had kept at bay, that she had never ever known about, was finally out in the open. For a moment, she couldn’t look away from him. She hadn’t thought it possible that he could be even more appealing, but somehow, this foreboding, commanding air suited him.

 

His dark eyes flickered towards her, and a faint smile appeared on his face. That was when she remembered that she was naked, causing her to look away. So they’d had sex, but it still made her a bit self-conscious to run around nude in front of him. Okay, so she wasn’t running around, per se, but that was beside the point.

 

“You’re awake,” he spoke, his soft voice echoing in the small area and wrapping itself around her body.

 

“Obviously,” she muttered, resisting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her response, seemingly amused, before any and all emotions were hidden behind an emotionless mask.

 

“I see you’ve been foolish as expected,” he said, looking down at her condescendingly.

 

Hermione frowned. Foolish? What was he going on about?

 

His hand came to lightly rest on her bound wrist. It wasn’t just the pain of his hand touching her burn, it was also the abruptness and unexpected contact that made her move. For a second, she closed her eyes and pressed her teeth together, determined not to cry out from the searing pain that would follow. However, it didn’t. Instead, a cool sensation travelled through the bounds, healing the blisters and burns on her body. Shocked, she opened her eyes, staring at him in confusion.

 

“Don’t mistake my generosity for weakness, little one. It will not be repeated if you hurt yourself again.”

 

“I didn’t know,” she said, resentful of the condescending tone he was using with her.

 

“And now you do. I suppose foolish, little Gryffindors like yourself do require some wiggle room, especially given what’s next in store for you,” he said, his eyes glinting merrily.

 

Once more he touched the rope on her wrist and cast through it.

 

“There, you can move somewhat, but I recommend not trying to free yourself. As I explained before, my leniency has boundaries. And it’s only natural that you’ll give me your full cooperation now, isn’t that right, _darling_?”

 

The endearment left his mouth in a mixture of cruel mockery and desire. The way he was gazing down at her made her grow cold to the very marrow of her bones. As if she wasn’t cold enough already. But she didn’t dare mention it, she didn’t think he’d respond kindly to her requesting clothes and a blanket, or possibly a space heater. No, she doubted that would go over well, and she very much liked to remain in one piece. He seemed to have no qualms about casting an Unforgivable, and she really didn’t want to find out his skill with the other two. She could honestly say that she’d never been this scared in her life.  

 

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked in a small voice.

 

The question “Are you going to kill me?” hung unspoken in the air.

 

His face betrayed no thoughts as he slowly walked around the edge of the stone elevation, his eyes never leaving her. Hermione had no idea if it were the trick of the light, but his eyes seemed darker than usual.

 

“The answer to that depends on your decision, Granger,” he said, his tone business-like.

 

Upon hearing his words, her eyes snapped towards his face, confused.

 

“You came to Albania with the knowledge of what I had done before, up until I resigned from Borgin and Burkes. Now, we both know that this is, unfortunately, information that I would prefer to remain a secret,” Tom said, stopping when he was situated to her left next to the stone elevation.

 

With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared. Hermione sucked in a deep breath, wondering if he was going to kill her now. Was this set-up some kind of ritual that she didn’t know about that needed some kind of blood sacrifice? Was **_she_** going to be the blood sacrifice?

 

Her fear must’ve shown on her face, or perhaps he was just bloody perceptive, because he raised an eyebrow as those thoughts went through her mind. Nonetheless, his features slid back behind that impassive mask again seconds later.

 

“So, being the … merciful person that I am, I will give you two choices and two choices only,” he said, running the tip of his wand down the length of her arm.

 

Gooseflesh erupted in the wake of its trail, but she couldn’t look away from his face.

 

“What are my choices?” she asked.

 

A faint smirk appeared on his face. “If you choose the first option, we will be permanently bounded, with you as my slave and me as your Master. You will do my biddings when I tell you to do so, and thoughts of disloyalty can never be acted upon. Naturally, any secrets that I do not want to be disclosed will never leave your lips even if you wanted to talk about it.”

 

Well, that explained the picture on the ceiling.

 

For some inexplicable reason, the thought of being bounded to him didn’t repulse her as much as it should. She’d always known that some people found her too bossy. Most of the Gryffindors even outwardly complained about her pushy personality. Therefore, nobody was more surprised than her when she actually found the thought of submitting to him arousing. Without warning, the many times when he had overpowered her, subjugated her at Borgin and Burkes appeared in her mind’s eye, and she nearly moaned on the spot. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind. Not exactly the most appropriate time for those thoughts.

 

She swallowed, attempting to relieve her parched throat before she spoke. “And my second option?”

 

His hand reached inside his robes and pulled out some curvy, shiny thing. When Hermione saw the sparkling, huge sapphire, she realised he’d found Rowena Ravenclaw’s missing diadem. That must’ve been what he was doing when he was away.

 

To her surprise, he silently placed the historical tiara on top of her head, her bushy hair curling around it. It felt strange, wearing something so old and priceless. This had to be the most expensive piece of jewelry she’d ever worn.

 

What was odd was that it seemed to hum, almost as if she could sense a second heartbeat coming from it. She’d read many texts about the properties of Ravenclaw’s diadem. They all spoke of intelligence enhancement, nothing of it being alive. And that was what it felt like, as if the diadem were a living entity. That couldn’t be, could it?

 

She stopped her deductions when she realised that he’d been speaking and she’d missed him giving her the answer. Oh god.

 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” she requested, scrunching her face together in anticipation of whatever bad things were to follow.  

 

“And they say Ravenclaw’s diadem improves intelligence,” he said sarcastically, his fingers stroking through her hair along the line of it. “Maybe your rat’s nest is blocking the reception. Now I know it’s hard for your tiny Gryffindor brain, but try paying attention.”

 

No matter how scared she was, the hair was a subject not to be messed with, and she glared at him.   

 

His face hardened until only daunting callousness remained. “Your second option is: I’ll use your … unfortunate death in creating my Horcrux.” A wicked smile appeared on his face at the shock on hers. “You’ll always be a part of me then, a part of something of grand importance—you’ll insure my continued survival.”

 

She stared at him for a moment. He was going to create a Horcrux? Or perhaps he’d already made Horcruxes out of the other two Founder relics? Suddenly, the pieces clicked together. No wonder he’d killed Hepzibah—he was using her death to create a Horcrux. So that meant that he had more than one Horcrux. Her eyes widened at the revelation, since no one in history had ever attempted that before, until another thought crashed into her mind.

 

The second heartbeat … Horcrux …

 

Thoroughly irritated, her gaze on Tom became a glare again as she hissed, “Do you think I’m stupid, Tom Marvolo Riddle? What do you mean make a Horcrux with my ‘unfortunate death’? You’ve already made the diadem into one. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t notice it? You’re downright delusional if you think that I’m that dumb.”

 

He appeared surprised about the fact that she knew that the diadem had already been turned into a Horcrux. However, he then rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

 

“There are always other objects, Granger, and as your clever little mind had already figured out, I do not plan to stop with just one Horcrux. Best be careful in how you address your superiors,” he warned.

 

Her mouth snapped shut when she realized that he probably wasn’t joking around. Her heart thudded painfully, and without noticing it, her breaths were becoming more and more erratic.

 

“You have your two options, Hermione Granger. Choose wisely,” he said quietly as he watched her face.

  
She gazed at him and tried her best to suppress a shiver when he ran a single fingertip up and down her arm.

 

“The … the first option,” she whispered.

 

His eyes lit up upon hearing her answer, and she suddenly realized that it hadn’t been necessary for her to listen to the second option in the first place. She never would’ve chosen differently.

 

“Give me the full answer, Granger. I want to hear it from your lips,” he said, his voice more sibilant than usual.

 

She blinked at him. “Erm … I don’t know what to say.”

 

WIth a sigh and another roll of his eye, he said, “‘Please bind me to you as your slave, Master’.”

 

Uncontrollably, a giggle bubbled from her mouth, and she chirped, “Okay!”

 

However, the look of annoyance he sent her reminded her of who and what she was facing, and it was enough to sober her up.

 

“Please bind me to you as your slave … _Master_ ,” she repeated, a bit uncertain if he would accept her answer after she’d pulled that one on him.

 

Thankfully, the irritation that had been on his face disappeared. He closed his eyes and threw his head back at the way she addressed him, pleasure rolling off him in waves before he looked at her again. Desire and possessiveness swirled in his eyes, and he swooped down to capture her lips with his. She moaned in protest when he broke off the kiss, straightening his body again.

 

With a swirl of his wand, he conjured a tiny bottle with a strange, dark-brown, bubbling liquid. Hermione realised it had to have been stored in a what was known as a pocket dimension for him to obtain it so fast and with the potion in working order. She marvelled at his magical prowess. He really was somethi—

 

“EEEK!” she yelled in pain when he cut her arm with his wand. “Oww …” she added resentfully, having the impulse to rub her arm but being unable to do so due to her bounds. “A little warning would’ve been appreciated.”

 

He ignored her, cutting his own arm, too. Then, he held his arm against hers, his wand making intricate, circular motions above it. Blood streamed upwards from their wounds, spiraling around each other before entering the potion. He kept going until the bottle was completely full. Then he sealed the wounds with a tiny flick of his wrist.

 

“What’s that for?” Hermione asked curiously.

 

“That’s so little girls don’t speak out of turn,” he replied, staring down at her while shaking the bottle firmly.

 

“Har-har.” Now that she wasn’t going to die or be harmed, her normal demeanour had returned, and she felt confident enough to ask questions and talk back to him. “What does it really do? I mean you used both our blood which is only common in ancient rites of passage, but that’s not what this is about, right? So, I don’t understand how it’s supposed to benefit you.”

 

The potion turned a deep, dark black. As Tom poured a bit out onto his hand, Hermione lifted her head to see better. It resembled tar to her utter disgust.

 

“Eww … yuck. If that’s supposed to be ingested, find another guinea pig, or better yet, drink it yourself. You seem to be all for crazy experimental magic, multiple Horcrux-mammraaombbllmm,” she sputtered, coughing against his “tar”-filled hand.

 

“Don’t test my patience, Granger,” he hissed. “Now be quiet or I will remove your vocal cords. Permanently.”

 

That threat caused her lips to snap shut at once, making Riddle smirk. He lifted his wand and moved it over his potion-filled hand. The colour of whatever spell—or most likely curse, Hermione corrected mentally only—he was using shifted from dark green to turquoise to blue. Appearing satisfied with that result, Riddle put away his wand and poured the potion into a bowl. Why he hadn’t done that straight away, but put it on his hand first was beyond Hermione. She felt she was about to explode from curiosity; she was practically dying to know what all these steps were for. When Riddle dipped his finger into the potion and began drawing on the inside of her arm, she had to bite her tongue, hard, to not speak up.

 

Soon, not speaking up wasn’t the only problem she was having. The liquid burned into her skin, making it hard not to cry out in pain. And he kept on drawing.

 

But she couldn’t make a noise; she’d been ordered to be quiet and she didn’t want to fail at that. Not just because of the threat but also to show him she could.

 

When he was done with her arm, he moved to the other, repeating the process. Occasionally, he glanced at her, making her even more determined to hold herself under control. Seeing that caused his breathing to quicken and his pupils to widen as he continued drawing on her skin.

 

Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead, and she pressed her eyelids closed and clenched her teeth together. She was going to be still, even if it were the last thing she ever did. When he was finally done with her other arm, she just caught herself before letting out a sigh of relief. It was for the better because he wasn’t done as she’d expected.

 

When she felt his finger on her chest, she couldn’t control it anymore and whimpered.

 

His eyes met hers. She did whatever she could to signal to him that she was sorry, that she’d not meant to make a noise, without actually saying it. Quietly, he appraised her. His assessment of her made her heart race, and she became all the more aware of how exposed she truly was as his eyes slowly slid over her naked form. His gaze was so intense, so tangible, that she could feel his touch where he looked.

 

But that should be impossible, shouldn’t it? You couldn’t touch someone merely by looking.

 

His eyes lingered on the curls between her legs. Hermione squirmed, wanting to rub her legs together to relieve the itch that built up there and being unable to do so due to the restraints. She no longer felt the burning sensation on her arms nor the cold; her body became flushed, perspiring from the heat it was rapidly producing. His eyes moved over her belly to her breast, and she arched her back in response. When their eyes met, he pulled a cloth out of thin air and dabbed her forehead with it briefly, his tall form leaning over her.

 

“Good girl,” he said barely above a whisper.

 

A glance at the bottle of potion told her that it probably wasn’t over, but somehow, his praise made her elated. It refueled her determination to remain as quiet as he’d demanded. A faint smile appeared on her face, and sucking in a deep breath, she prepared herself for the pain that was going to come.

 

He dipped his finger into the potion again and started drawing on her chest. Hermione tensed, expecting it to be even worse, but strangely enough it wasn’t. The pain got mixed with the pleasure she’d felt. Every stroke of his finger sent such different signals to her brain that she couldn’t keep up. Was this pain or pleasure? Her mind blanked; her body arched, having already decided it liked the sensations. She liked the sensations. Very much so.

 

By the time he reached her inner thigh, Hermione couldn’t hold still anymore. The pain enhanced the pleasure now, and it was too much. Far, far too much. She thrashed in her bounds, biting down on her lower lip to prevent herself from making a sound. She could feel her wetness dripping downwards onto the stone platform, but she no longer cared enough to feel embarrassed; she wanted—no, **_needed_** her release.

 

Riddle chuckled, completely immobilising her lower body so he could finish.

 

That she couldn’t move at all anymore made it even worse. It was like she had to experience the full blast of it now, like moving had taken the edge of it, and her brain went into overload. She screamed, unable to stay silent as she reached her climax unlike she’d ever before.   

 

“There we are,” he said, watching her body, covered in symbols, satisfied.

 

Hermione panted, trying to catch her composure, as her world slowly settled down. It took her quite some time before her breathing was back to normal, and she felt slightly like herself again. Well … herself … something felt different, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

 

_Must be the symbols_ , she decided.

 

She took another deep breath and looked at Tom. His robes and shirt were gone, and he was drawing something on his naked chest with the same potion. Hermione was amazed at how composed he was when doing so. Especially in the beginning, that potion had been horrific.

 

_Maybe it’s different for him?_

 

She so wanted to ask, but she was supposed to be quiet and she’d already breached her resolve by screaming before (a thought that frustrated her to no ends). She hoped he wouldn’t hold that against her. So, instead of asking, she ogled the semi-nude man in front of her. Now she could see why he was so strong. Despite his lean build, she could definitely see the contours of his muscles.

 

She supposed she shouldn’t be astonished that he took care of his body. Since the days while they were back at Hogwarts, it was clear that he knew he had the advantage of being exceptionally handsome and used it to his advantage at every turn. She had witnessed it, first-handedly, how he managed to make the strictest of professors into putty into his hands with just a gaze or a smile, the only noticeable exception being Professor Dumbledore. However, it was a strange contrast to how he ripped his soul to shreds.

 

As if he knew she was looking at him, his motions seemed to be deliberately slow. Without being completely cognizant about it, her eyes followed his pale, long forefinger as it drew each symbol, and she could feel her need build up again. She remembered the time when he had touched her oh so wonderfully in the storage room, and her temperature rose a couple of degrees higher as she secretly hoped that he would touch her like that soon again.

 

When he was done, he looked at her, a vicious glint in his eyes as the corner of his mouth curved slightly upward.

 

“You may speak now when spoken to or when permission is given,” he spoke strictly, showing her this wasn’t open to debate. “You will, from hereon, address me properly, either with Master or my Lord, and you’ll show me respect at all times.”

 

For a moment, he took her in. She kept her eyes on him, waiting for him to continue.

 

When he was satisfied she was taking him seriously and not planning any smart alec remarks, he continued, “You will keep all my secrets. You won’t be able to divulge anything about me unless you have my explicit permission. From hereon, you have no more autonomy over yourself. Your mere existence is for my pleasure. You **—** your body, your mind, your soul, your magic—are mine to do with as I please. You belong to me and **_only_** me for all of eternity. You will obey all of my commands immediately and without question. You will do all this, no matter where we are, what we are doing, or who is with us. If you fail in any of this, you will present yourself to be punished, and I won’t go easy on you. A good Master doesn’t spare the rod. Is all of that clear?”

 

Her mind reeled. This was no small task, and she could feel the symbols pulsing with every word he spoke. Once she’d agreed, there would be no turning back. She’d be his. Forever. In every way possible. And he had Horcruxes, plural, which meant that unless someone had the ability to destroy all of them, he would be essentially immortal, walk the earth until the end of time. And she would belong to him. Always.

 

Doubtful, she shifted on the rock surface. Though the thoughts of belonging to him had aroused her, the concept of being like that frightened her. What if she had a change of heart somewhere down the line? What if she wanted out, a hundred years down the road? What if he told her to kill someone she loved? What if he made her torture them? What if he asked for her to do something against her morals? Would she be able to do it? And if she resisted …?

 

Could she even resist under these terms?

 

The symbols pulsed harder and harder. She looked at Tom, searching his face for some compassion, some opening so she wouldn’t have to go this far, or at least some kind of reassurance. His stare was harsh, demanding. His arms crossed, waiting knowingly.

 

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn’t do this. What had she been thinking? Death had to be—

 

She moaned, the symbols seemed to be burning, spreading, taking over all her senses. Her skin felt like it got touched everywhere. Blinking rapidly, she tried to understand what was happening. Her chest constricted.

 

“Hermione, look at me.”

 

Her mind cleared. He was leaning over her, one arm beside her head while the other was holding his body up next to her side. She wanted him to touch her, so badly, but he was just out of reach.

 

“Answer my question, Hermione,” he ordered coolly.

 

“I—I—I can’t,” she said, feeling hopeless.

 

“Yes, you can. It’s what you want. I’ve seen it in your mind, my pet. You want to submit to someone powerful enough to keep you under control. You want this. You need this. I won’t allow you to throw your life away, simply because you’re getting cold feet now. You’re an intelligent witch, and under my tutelage, you will become brilliant. You will do this, Hermione. Right now.”

 

She wanted to. The confidence with which he spoke and his obvious knowledge of her desires had the most profound impact on her. Nobody had ever given her this much attention, had ever known her this well.

 

But not well enough.

 

It was too much. She wanted to submit, but not if it meant losing herself completely, losing her autonomy like that was terrifying and dangerous. She would be nothing more than a puppet in his hands.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” she said slowly but decisively. “I know I said I would before.” She swallowed the big lump in her throat. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I’d be nothing more than a mere puppet. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve got plenty of puppets in those who think themselves your friend. I don’t think you’d even like me that way. I’ve seen your eyes when we argued; it stimulates you just as much as it does me. You’d be giving all that up. I’d be giving all that up. And I can’t. Just kill me.”

 

She couldn’t tell a thing from the blank expression he gave her, but she didn’t think he’d take rejection very well. There was a turmoil in his eyes she’d never seen before. His wrist flicked, causing his wand to miraculously appear in his hand. How did he do that? Her studious side wanted to learn, realised that there was much he could teach her, but now was not the time to ask questions like these (and if he were going to kill her, learning something like that right now, if he were willing to teach her, wouldn’t save her life anyway). Hermione’s eyes flickered between the piece of yew wood and his face, searching for an answer to his intentions. She didn’t want to die, but somehow she was at peace with it. When he pressed the tip of his wand into her cheek, she closed her eyes. This was it. He was going to kill her now.

 

She waited.

 

And waited some more.

 

Suddenly, Riddle growled and pushed away from her.  “You’re infuriating,” he hissed.

 

Relieved, Hermione opened her eyes. However, the visible tension in his body squelched that feeling fully. Apprehensively, she noted how his knuckles were white from clutching to his wand so hard. She was amazed it hadn’t broken with the force he was clearly putting on it. She could see the storm raging in his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, and that didn’t bode well for her, Hermione decided. She needed to do something.

 

“My—” _What was it again?_ “—my Lord?” she called out tentatively.

 

Her use of his preferred title seemed to shake him out of it. Tom inhaled deeply, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. His exhale was equally deep and slow; tension seeped from his muscles, and abruptly, he swirled towards her. Hermione’s eyes widened; she tensed on the spot. He placed both hands on either side of her head and leaned in, until their noses were almost touching.

 

“The secrecy part stays as it was, or we can stop this discussion right now,” he said, staring at her.

 

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” Hermione replied, nodding, relieved and slightly amazed that he was actually going to alter the terms instead of killing her.

 

He sighed, tracing the contour of her face with his finger. “You’re already addressing me respectfully, my little one, it so pleases me—” Hermione’s heart leaped at the sight of approval on his face. “—and I’ll assume it means you have no problem keeping that in as well.”

 

“No, Master,” Hermione said, shaking her head in good measure.

 

“As for your incessant talking …” he trailed off, practically daring her to make a remark about pots calling kettles black.

 

Hermione bit her lip, finding it hard to hold her tongue, especially when noticing that humorous glint darting through his eyes. However, her mind was vocalising plenty, making him click with his tongue disapprovingly.

 

“I wasn’t saying anything!” Hermione objected.

 

“You were thinking it, pet. I see I will need to be a firm Master and teach you self-control in all aspects of life, too.”

 

Now she was seeing all kinds of delicious activities in front of her mind’s eye, and a moan escaped her lips. Tom chuckled.

 

“Such a naughty little slave, you are. We will get to that later, my dear, but first the ground rules. When we’re in private, you’re allowed to voice any and all objections. When in public, I will expect you to hold your tongue and not embarrass me.”

 

“I’ll be allowed to say so afterwards?”

 

“Once we’re in private, yes.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I won’t ask anything of you that you’re unwilling to do freely nor will I cause you permanent harm in any way, but your body will belong to me to do with as I please. You will belong to me and only me.”

 

These were some significant, fundamental changes. She really liked that she wouldn’t have to do anything against her will. It made her feel much more at ease, knowing he was willing to compromise like this. It didn’t escape Hermione that he’d left out her mind, magic, and soul this time. That had been a big hurdle for her. Even though she knew the four were inexplicitly mixed and not as separate as one would think, she needed the notion of having some autonomy in these aspects, especially considering he was creating Horcruxes (plural!). She really didn’t want him in charge of her soul.

 

“I can agree to that, my Lord,” she replied.

 

“I need you to word it precisely, Hermione,” he said, gazing at her suspiciously.

 

Hermione frowned, not knowing what she’d done wrong, until she realised the loophole in her words.

 

“I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t do that on purpose. I agree to those stipulations fully,” she replied quickly.

 

“Very well. As to obeying my commands, you will do so and promptly—no matter where we are, what we’re doing, and who is with us.”

 

Hermione sputtered.

 

“I wasn’t finished yet, impatient, little pet of mine. None of my commands will cause you irreparable damage, and none will be beyond the scope of what you can handle at that time. I’m not an unreasonable man, Hermione. I know you. I know what you want, need from me.”

 

She nodded. “Okay then. You already told me you wouldn’t ask anything of me that I wasn’t willing to give freely anyway.”  
  


“Exactly,” Tom said, sending her a bright smile. “Now … should you fail at properly executing my commands, you will be punished in a … _form_ of my choosing.” His eyes turned even darker than before, and Hermione felt her vagina clench at the clear insinuation. “However, I will give you the chance to show me your atonement, and if it pleases me enough, your punishment will be lightened or lifted, depending on the severity of the infraction and the sincerity of your expiation. Are all these terms satisfactory to you?”

 

They stared into one another’s eyes, his words still ringing in her ears, and then something seemed to settle inside her. Without another moment of hesitation, she answered.

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

All the symbols, the ones on the walls, ceiling, floor, her skin and Tom’s, lit up brightly. The cave suddenly seemed to bathe in daylight due to it. Hermione tossed her head back and moaned.

 

Oh, god, that felt nice.

 

She looked up, witnessing how the etchings on Tom’s skin settled down deeper inside of him, slowly disappearing from visibility. Her head swiveled sideways, checking her arm. The same thing was happening to her. She could still feel the symbols, a soft thrumming in the distance, but she could no longer see them. Questioningly, she looked back up at him. His satisfied expression was all the answer she required.

  
Nevertheless he said, rising to his feet, “It is done.”

 

_That was it?_

 

Her confusion and disappointment must have been written on her face, because he chuckled.

 

“Something the matter, little one?”

 

“Er … No, my Lord.”

 

“I’ll expect you to answer with a bit more promptness, pet, or there will be consequences that you will not enjoy.”

 

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

_What on earth was he a lord of? He was an orphan._

 

He waved his hand at her bounds, untying them in a flash and gesturing at her to get up. She rubbed her sore wrists, slid to the side of the stone elevation, and carefully got to her feet, feeling her muscles protest against the sudden change in position.

 

Once she’d managed to stand upright, despite her wobbly legs, he motioned for her to move closer to him. Cautiously, she stepped forward and nearly lost her balance but caught herself at the last second. He offered her no help at all, and when she was finally standing in front of him, he allowed a look of approval to appear on his face. It was perplexing how a simple look from him could affect her so—she guessed that it was because of the ritual they’d gone through—but the validation he’d given her made her feel happy, causing a brilliant smile to appear on her face.

 

He appeared amused for a second before he commanded, “Kneel.”

 

She glanced at him questioningly, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

 

“Are we really going to start with punishments so early on?” he asked, reminding her in a sickeningly sweet voice about the conditions of their bond.

 

Though she was still a bit suspicious, she got down on her knees, cringing when she realized that her muscles still weren’t fully cooperating with her. When she was kneeling in front of him, he patted her head condescendingly.

 

“There. That wasn’t too hard, was it?” he asked, smirking at her.

 

She held back the suggestion for him to try it himself and remained silent, watching his facial expressions and waiting for his next orders.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “No replies? How surprising.”

 

He laced his fingers through her curls, playing with her hair. The little tingles traveled from her scalp to her whole body, and she anticipated the moment when he would touch her more intimately.

 

His smile widened as if he’d just thought of something, and he tilted his head upwards a bit, though he still remained eye contact with her. “Let’s see how well my new little slave services her Master, shall we? You are in the … correct position right now anyway.”

 

She blushed profusely when he maneuvered her head so that she was staring directly at his crotch. She blinked a couple of times, quite uncertain in regards to what to do.

 

Again, he didn’t give her any instructions, so she decided to improvise. On his own … “head” it was if she did something wrong.

 

Lifting her hands, she unzipped his pants and took out his half-erected manhood. Her embarrassment was soon taken over by curiosity as she studied a part of the human anatomy that she didn’t have. She’d had sex before, prior to that one time in the storage room, too, but this was the first time she had the chance to really look at someone’s cock.

 

Her eyes widened in wonderment as she witnessed his length getting harder and longer while she stroked it, running her hands up and down it and gently caressing his balls. He must be enjoying it, judging from the guttural sounds he made, and for some reason, those soft groans made something warm stir in her womanhood.

 

She tilted her head and watched a clear, viscous fluid leak out from the tip of his cock. Precum, she silently acknowledged with a barely perceptible nod to herself, before she moved her hand over it and used it as a lubricant to aid her in stroking him.

 

“Use your mouth,” he said, his voice hoarser than usual.

 

With no small amount of uncertainty, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. Tentatively, she moved forward, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock as she took him in.

 

“Suck harder,” he instructed in that soft voice of his.

 

When she did as she was told, a small gasp escaped his lips, and the hand he had on her hair tightened into a fist. The pressure on her scalp made her moan around his cock. That, in turn, made him buck his hips. Since his hand was still holding her head in place, she was forced to take all of him down her throat. Her eyes watered at the sudden deep-throating she was doing, and she had to put her hand on his thighs to support herself.

 

When he pulled out slightly, she immediately inhaled much needed air through her nose. She was just taking her second breath when he rammed right back into her, deep down her throat. They repeated this a couple of times, and when Hermione started to get the hang of things, she began to appreciate the hisses he would emit when she did something that particularly excited him.

 

When he finally came, deep inside her throat, dark magic noticeably swirled around her, tickling her skin and curling her insides. She would’ve swayed to and fro had he not had such a firm grip on her hair. Her eyes glazed over, and for a brief moment, she was completely unaware of anything else but them.

 

Then he stepped away from her, letting go, while he waved his wand over his body, clothing himself. Without his support, Hermione fell forward on her hands, steadying herself. His smug chuckle danced over her skin, sending tingles down her spine.

 

“I see you can’t even keep your proper position without support from your Master,” Tom taunted.

 

His voice did unthinkable things to her. It felt like every syllable entered her body and teased every nerve ending. Hermione squirmed, enjoying the feeling but wanting so much more. Her brain tried to focus on what he was saying but it was hard.

 

Proper position?

 

She breathed in deeply, pushing those maddening feelings away.

 

Proper position … he’d told her to kneel!

 

Shaking her head to get rid of the buzz, she pushed herself up by her hands and rested her butt on her heels. She’d made it.

 

“Put your hands on your thighs,’ Tom ordered coolly.

 

God, his voice …

 

She squirmed, pressing her legs together to gain some friction.

 

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” he said, stepping towards her and kicking her legs apart. “Hands, now.”

 

Quickly, she placed her hands on her thighs, not wanting to anger him more.

 

“Good girl,” he purred.

 

She swore he did it deliberately. That purr resonated through every cell of her body, igniting a cascade of sensations she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop.

 

He yanked her up by her hair, straightening her back farther.

 

“You will keep this position until I return. There’ll be no sounds from your lips and no moving whatsoever. I will know if you haven’t obeyed me, so don’t attempt to deceive me. I believe this is the perfect opportunity for you to prove your worth to me, my little Mudblood. Frankly, I’ll be surprised if someone with blood as dirty as yours is able to successfully complete such a menial task.” And on that note, he Disapparated.

 

Hermione fumed. How dare he call her a Mudblood when everyone knew he was raised in a Muggle orphanage!

 

Hypocrite.

 

Stupid, stinking Slytherin.

 

Stupid, bla— Oh god, what was that?

 

Her fingers dug deep into her thighs when her whole body thrummed with need. Waves and waves of pleasure rolled through her, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

 

Hermione closed her eyes, chanting mentally: Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t move.

 

Her clit began pulsing by itself as if someone were stimulating it just the way she liked it.

 

Oh, god, don’t move, don’t …. move, don’t … make … a … sou—

 

“Ooooh.”

 

Dammit! She’d made a sound, but at least she hadn’t moved. Yet.

 

Somehow she got a feeling he’d stacked the deck against her. Blasted, sneaky Slytherin. Well, she’d show him. She wasn’t going to—

 

“—moooooove. Oh god.”

 

Her vagina had contracted. The emptiness inside was almost unbearable. Her face contorted. She needed to move now. She needed something inside her. She couldn’t move.

 

 

Another bout of pleasure rushed through her, her inner muscles clenching painfully. Her head swivelled around, searching for something to use as a substitute to a cock.

 

Soft clicking of a tongue reached her ears, and she dropped her head in defeat. He was here. Had he even left at all? She’d heard him Disapparate. Is it even possible for someone to Apparate and Disapparate without a sound? Or had he just faked the sound and been here all along, waiting for her to fail?

 

Well, now that she had failed …

 

Her hand moved to her clit, rubbing it hard, while quickly inserting her finger inside of her pussy.

 

To her utter distress, it did nothing for her. She couldn’t even feel it. With a growl, she inserted another finger inside herself, trying to relieve herself but to no avail.

 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such a wanton, little Mudblood,” Tom spoke silkily, his voice vibrating inside of her body, making her squirm and moan. “To think that you would be an anomaly, different from the average dirt who has similar bloodlines to yours, but apparently, I was mistaken.”

 

His insults hardly registered in her mind; she could only concentrate on his voice and his voice only. Each syllable that fell from his lips was like a small electrical current, flowing through her veins and amplifying her arousal.

 

“Please … please, my Lord,” she pleaded, still plunging her fingers into her cunt.

 

He chuckled, causing her to close her eyes and arch her back. “Do you actually expect to be rewarded when you’ve so blatantly went against what I’ve asked you to do, slave?”

 

She groaned, dropping her head again, and with some difficulty, she withdrew her hand and placed it back on her thigh. Nonetheless, her whole body continued to shake with pleasure.

 

Merlin, she just couldn’t take all the tension that was building inside her. She really, really needed someone to pound into her hard and fast, that “someone” preferably being that arrogant, too handsome for his own good, Slytherin who was standing behind her right now.

 

Suddenly, his hand landed on her shoulder, and her resolve to not move broke down again. With a moan, she leaned into his touch, but just as quickly, he moved his hand away, causing her to drop on her side onto the floor.

 

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he circled around her body that was now lying sideways on the floor.

 

“Such an disgusting, undisciplined Mudblood. I gave you the simple task to stay still and you can’t even manage to do that,” he said softly.

 

“My Lord … Master … please, I can’t take this anymore,” she whimpered as she pushed herself towards him.

 

Much to her dismay, however, he walked around her, not allowing her to touch him, when she’d finally reached where he was. Her head dropped to the floor, and she pressed her forehead against the cold stone floor, hoping that it would somehow drive away her desires or at least hold it back a bit, so that she could have a somewhat clear head to convince him to fuck her brains out.

 

“Back into the position,” he said coldly.

 

The hair at the back of her neck stood up. Never mind the bond they had. With **_that_** voice he was sporting now, Hermione was afraid that he would leave her stranded here, forever left in the torture of being aroused but never reaching her climax.

 

Mustering all the strength she had, she pushed herself up and back into the kneeling position. Taking in a deep breath, she clenched her hands into fists and placed them on her thigh as he’d told her to. Her clit continued to feel as if someone were stimulating it, and now even her nipples seemed to be under the attention of invisible fingers. Her lips quivered, and she did her best to not make a sound. However, little whimpers still managed to escape, so she bit down on her lips, nearly drawing blood.

 

Perhaps she should start reciting _Hogwarts: A History_ to help take her mind off things?

 

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—_

 

It suddenly felt as if someone was pulling on her nipples, and if her eyes weren’t opened, she would’ve thought he was touching her.

 

_—was built more than a thousand years ago by—_

 

Merlin, this had to be because of the stupid bond she’d just made with him. It was impossible for this to happen—Ohhhhh, the pressure on her clit seemed to have been increased as well.

 

_—Godric Gryffindor—_

 

Or had he cast a sex spell on her? She wouldn’t put it past him. Why wasn’t he touching her anymore? It had to be have been thirty minutes since she’d stopped moving. Wasn’t he finished punishing her yet?

 

_—Helga Hufflepuff—_

 

Oh dear gods, why was he sitting there? And why did he just laugh? Didn’t he know that that would just increase her desire?

 

_—Rowena Ravenclaw—_

 

Never mind, he must had known that and did it purposely to torture her. This was just too much for not listening to one measly command.

 

_—and Salazar Slytherin—_

 

She dug her fingers into her thighs, determined not to move because who knew how long he was going to stall her climax if she didn’t finish her punishment?

 

And then she heard him walk towards her. Her breathing increased when he stopped right behind her, and she could hardly suppress herself from moving when his cloak brushed up against her body. Thankfully, she didn’t act on that urge.

 

“Finally learning a bit of control now, aren’t we?” he said quietly.

 

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to sway to his voice.

 

Grabbing her hair, he pulled her up and kissed her hard on the lips. She swallowed the moan that threatened to leave her lips the moment she was in contact with him. Obediently, she opened her mouth when his tongue pushed against her lips, demanding for access.

 

She couldn’t control her body from shivering with need when his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. Somehow, she managed not to touch him; that one small part of her mind that still wasn’t overwhelmed by desire remembered that he hadn’t granted her his permission yet. That must have pleased him immensely, since she felt him smile against her lips.

 

He pushed her backwards, and a yelp left her lips—she’d thought that she would’ve been landing on the stone floor, but instead, she landed on something soft. She looked around and realized that he’d conjured a bed without her noticing it.

 

“You may put your arms and legs around me,” he said, his eyes dark and unnaturally bright with lust.

 

Without a second word, he plunged into her, filling her to the hilt. She bit down hard on her lips to prevent herself from screaming in pleasure, this time drawing blood, as she arched her back off the bed.

 

His eyes lit up as he ran a finger over her lips, pulling them away from her teeth. The approval and satisfaction in his eyes made Hermione proud of herself, as if she’d accomplished something important.

 

“Scream for me, my little slave,” he said softly before he started thrusting into her body.

 

He didn’t need to tell her a second time. Each time he pushed his considerable length into her, she felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven. If this were because of the bond, she was more certain than ever that she’d made the correct choice.

 

Wrapping her legs around him, she matched every one of his thrusts with one of her own, causing an animalistic growl to fall from his oh so sinful lips.

 

She liked that. She really, really liked that. And so, she did her best to keep up with his pace. She was pretty certain that she would get bruises by the force and speed with which he was pounding into her, but she didn’t care. She really, really didn’t care because she knew, deep down inside of her, that this was what she needed; this was what she craved.

 

When she came, with him following not so far behind her, she was certain that the whole continent of Europe could hear her.

 

Still breathing erratically, she watched as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of her, eliciting a small moan from her. A faint smirk graced his features as he shifted his position so that he was lying down next to her.

 

“Sleep for now, my little one,” he said, caressing her cheek with one hand. “I will … reconsider how to punish you for disobeying my order when you wake.”

 

She gawked at him when she heard his words.

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you think that you can escape your disciplining after you’ve so blatantly defied my instructions?”

 

“Bu-but—” she stuttered.

 

“Hush,” he dictated, placing his forefinger on her lips, “unless you wish for me to enact your punishment right now.”

 

She wanted to argue, but after the whole … erm … exercise, she was too tired. Perhaps she could convince him after she’d had a good night’s sleep (or good day’s sleep, since she had no idea what time it was right now). She was allowed a chance to show him her atonement, wasn’t she? She would succeed there; she knew she would.

 

And that was the last thought in her mind before she drifted off into sleep.

 

xxx

 

His dark eyes slid over the tired yet sated look on the witch lying asleep in his arms. A victorious smirk appeared on his face as he ran his fingers through her hair, careful to not get caught in one of the knots as to not wake her up.

 

_Then again, she didn’t seem to mind the pain all that much_ , he thought wryly to himself.

 

It had thoroughly surprised him when he found out what a closet masochist she was. After all, she had always been a controlling little thing when they were back at Hogwarts, and during their first couple of months at Hogwarts, she’d even tried to boss **_him_** around. Naturally, she’d seen the … errors of her ways after a couple of run-ins. In retrospect, there was almost a kind of twisted poetic justice in the way she was now bounded to him.

 

As those thoughts crossed his mind, he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to wake her up.

 

But no. She would need her rest. He still had many things to accomplish before he reached his goal. Everything had worked out exceptionally well, even better than he’d imagined before applying for a job at Borgin and Burkes. Now he not only owned four valuable Founders’ relics and was well on his way to obtain his preferred number of seven Horcruxes, but he’d gained an unexpected, unmatched follower in Hermione.

 

All it would take was time to erase any and all evidence of her dirty blood, similar to what he had done for himself, and then, he would purge her of those nonsensical morals that she held so close to her heart. It might be a while; he knew it would, but he was confident that he would accomplish it. One day, she would stand by his side, his dark, little, Mudblood slave, ready to help him pave the road to greatness and hex anyone who stood in his way. Nothing would stop him.

 

Not with her by his side.

 

 

  
_The End_


End file.
